


Hand of the King

by allthespiceyoullwant



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5145107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthespiceyoullwant/pseuds/allthespiceyoullwant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eddard Stark, king of Westeros, rules the realm with the help of his Hand, Petyr Baelish. But his daughter Sansa is ambitious...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand of the King

„All hail his grace, the Lord Eddard of House Stark, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.“

Her father still flinched whenever he was addressed like this, Sansa noticed. Small wonder. It had been three months since Ned's rebellion, and he was still trying to get used to his new position.

After he had uncovered the truth about Joffrey's parentage, her father had wanted to tell Robert Baratheon, his oldest friend and king. But then a boar had ripped him apart, and that chance died along with Robert himself. But Eddard, ever loyal to honor and duty, had send a letter to Stannis, the new rightful king of Westeros.

Only the letter never reached him.

The events after that were clouded in secrecy, treason, and betrayal. Nobody knew exactly what had happened, and those who knew would take the knowledge to the grave. All the singers sang was that somehow her father had managed to seize the throne. For three days, the Lannister guardsmen and Stark guardsmen and the gold cloaks of the city watch had fought each other all over the city, until suddenly, mysteriously, Joffrey had died, and Cersei had left the city in a panic, taking her two other children with her and with them all their claims to the iron throne.

Now peace had come to King's Landing and the realm. Ned had been crowned king. He had tentatively appointed Lord Petyr Baelish as his hand and reformed the small council.

The memory of these weeks still let Sansa's heart beat faster. She knew exactly what had happened. She knew it in excruciating detail. And it was the most dangerous, condemnable and scandalous knowledge.

Nothing had ever exhilarated her more.

Sansa forced back her smile and tried to hide the blush on her face. This was her father's court, after all. She had to look like a proper lady. And Septa Mordane was already throwing her concerned looks.

To distract herself Sansa let her eyes wander through the Great Hall of the Red Keep. The view still left her breathless. The walls, once hidden behind the massive skulls of the Targaryen dragons and then covered in hunting tapestries, were naked stone now. “This hall is not for vanities,” her father had proclaimed after he had won the throne. “It is where I attend to my duty to the realm. Let my people see that I have won the war for them, not for empty complacency.”

Ned had only made one exception to this rule. On the North wall of the room, right behind the throne, hung the royal sigil: The crowned direwolf of House Stark.

Her father was sitting under this sigil now, the crown resting on his head, looking equal parts regal and uncomfortable. He was bowed low and whispering with his Hand Lord Petyr Baelish. The two men were as different as night and day. Where Eddard was solemn and serious, Littlefinger was amiable, ever smiling, seemingly able to become friends with everyone he met. Eddard's garb was still as humble as he dared dress, all in Stark grey and white. In contrast Petyr was clad in black, green and blue—black boots, black belt, black breeches, a blue cape over a green velvet doublet slashed with blue satin and embroidered with the Mockingbird he had taken as his sigil.

Were it not for his crown, nobody would have expected Eddard Stark to be the king and Petyr Baelish the Hand. The smallfolk were already whispering that it was Lord Baelish who ruled the seven kingdoms, in truth if not in name. Some even dared whisper that Eddard was secretly glad about this. They would talk to each other in hushed voices, bowed low over tankards of ale in the gloomiest corners of the taverns. “He misses the North,” they would whisper about their king, “and his gods. The Stark blood don't do well south of Moat Cailin. His sons feel it, too. Only the girls are happy here. His youngest is taking dancing lessons, whatever that means, only she comes home covered in bruises every day. And Sansa... the gods only know what business she has in the Tower of the Hand every night.”

Some kings would call this talk treason, but not Eddard Stark. “The smallfolk love to complain about their lords,” he always said. “Let them be, and it will run its course. Soon they will complain about the harvest, or winter, or the price of meat.”

A sudden movement startled Sansa. The lords and ladies and the petitioners were leaving. Her father was descending the steps that led towards the iron throne, and Littlefinger was collecting the scrolls and parchments before him. Sansa felt herself blush. Was her father's audience already concluded? Had she really been dreaming the entire time? Lord Baelish would be furious with her.

Sansa gathered her skirts and asked her Septa to excuse her. As soon as the hall was empty, she rushed down from the parapet and towards the iron throne, then past it, and sneaked through the plain door that was set into the wall. The door closed behind her, and Sansa found herself in darkness. But it did not frighten her. She had been here many times before. Even so, her heart beat faster, and she had to take a few deep breaths to stop herself from shaking. _It's just another lesson_ , she told herself. _Stop being such a fool_. But the excitement walked with her through the darkness towards the secret passage that led to the Tower of the Hand.

Still, something was different today. Sansa did not know what it was, but she felt it all the same. Her hand was trembling when she felt for the secret switch between two rough stones. Wasn't it usually here? But her fingers only touched naked stone. She moved her hand a little to the left, then a little down, trying to feel it, when—“Seven hells!”, she gasped before she could stop herself. She had come across something sharp in the wall and she could feel the blood dripping from her finger. Sansa hoped it would not stain her dress. Muttering curses under her breath, she continued feeling for the switch in the darkness.

As soon as she had found it, the wall before her seemed to part and gave way into a wooden construct, and Sansa Stark found herself standing in Petyr Baelish's closet.

The door was open; he had clearly expected her. Petyr was sitting at his desk, overlooking the inner bailey. His lips were curled in his usual smirk. “When you are sneaking up to someone, you better hold your tongue. These walls are thin, you know. I heard you curse like a sailor when you were just outside.”

Sansa had to laugh. “I knew you were expecting me, my lord. Had I wanted to surprise you, I would have been a lot more discreet. Why, you still would not know I was here.”

“Ah, then let us be glad you did not want to surprise me, sweetling. Your presence does so brighten up these meager chambers. It would be a shame if I did not know about it.” Petyr smiled and rose from his chair to walk towards her. He took her hand into his. “Was this the cause of your discomfort? A nasty cut indeed. But look, it has already stopped bleeding.” He gently moved her hand towards his mouth and planted the lightest kiss on her finger. Sansa thought she would faint from the touch of his lips. _Maybe next time, I'll cut my breasts on the way up here_.

But Petyr did not seem to notice the way she trembled when he kissed her, or else he pretended that he did not notice. Sansa pulled her hand back and took a deep breath, trying to force the moment of intimacy out of the room. It was hard enough to be alone with him in his private chambers nearly every night, so close to his bed... She did not need any more distractions.

“It was an interesting audience today, wouldn't you agree?”, she tried to make conversation. It was only then that she realized she had paid the audience absolutely no mind. What did she know how interesting it had been?

Petyr's grey-green eyes narrowed as he let his gaze wander across her face. Once more Sansa felt as if she was not wearing any clothes. Petyr looked right into her heart, into her soul, and saw everything. It sent a shudder down Sansa's spine. Whenever Petyr looked at her, he knew. It drove her her mad.

A smile spread on Petyr's lips, just as dubious and sly as him. “It was the most boring audience ever, I grief to admit,” he stated with a mock sound of devastation in his voice. “Tell me, sweetling, what thoughts distracted you from praying attention to the honorable Qarl Joslyn begging your father to grant his son titles and lands for the sixth time this week?” There was a mischievous twinkle in Petyr's eyes as he said it.

Sansa blushed and looked at her feet. She had even seen Joslyn leaving the Great Hall! She should have known he had come to her father with his usual plea. Walton Joslyn, a lesser member of the city watch, had single-handedly broken up a riot in Flea Bottom last week. Now his father felt king Eddard should reward him with a lordship and a castle. But the king had given him the same answer every time: “Your son serves the city watch. All he did was his duty, and every man, woman and child in King's Landing owes him thanks. That should be reward enough for him.”

“Well?” Petyr's voice brought Sansa back to reality. She searched for the adequate words. “I was remembering Ned's rebellion,” she admitted. “And the role I played...”

Gods be good, the thought alone made Sansa feel so wicked. She looked up at Petyr and found his eyes. For half a heartbeat, she saw something reflected in them, but it was gone too quickly. Sansa determinately held his gaze. “I was remembering how I—”

Petyr rushed towards her and put his right hand over her mouth. His left hand wandered down her arm and came to rest on the small of her back. “Hush, sweetling,” he whispered. “Nobody knows about this, not even your father. It is already a part of history. Only speaking about it can bring it back to life...” He was so close that Sansa could feel his breath on her face. He smelled of mint.

“I know,” Sansa whispered when he had taken his hand away from her mouth. He was still so close, so deliciously close... Closer than he had ever been before... “I thought I would have done these things for father, or for you. Maybe it was so at first. But I have come to realize that the only person I truly did these things for was myself.”

That seemed to take Petyr by surprise for a moment. They had never spoken about the part Sansa had played before, not after it had happened. Petyr looked at Sansa for a while without saying a word. His eyes seemed to feast on her. It made Sansa feel so beautiful. Then Petyr spoke. “Why?”

Sansa had known he would ask her. And she knew what she would say. “Because I want to be the queen.”

Petyr kept his face perfectly still, but Sansa knew him well enough by now. For a moment, his eyes darted across the room, looking for something, _anything_ to focus on, before they met her gaze again. It was all the reaction she needed. She smiled knowingly. “My father is a good ruler, merciful and just,” she explained. “You know that as much as I do. But you also know that he is not happy here.” She dared herself to look straight into Petyr's grey-green eyes, almost drowning in them. “I am. I would be just as good as my father, fair and strong and beautiful, and I would love ruling the realm. With you by my side, I could lead Westeros to a new era. The seven kingdoms could be just as advanced and progressive as the free cities, maybe even more so. My father would be glad to pass the crown to his heir. He longs for Winterfell.”

Petyr responded faster than Sansa would have expected. “Your father's heir is Robb. He is both older than you, and a man.”

“I know that,” answered Sansa. “But Robb is the North, just as much as my father. He needs to rule in the North.” She paused for a moment before she added, “He needs to rule as King in the North.”

Petyr laughed. “Oh, Sansa. My sweet, willful, ambitious Sansa. What you suggest is treason.”

“Not if my father agrees to it,” reminded him Sansa. “If he lets the North out of the realm, Robb would be crowned King in the North. We both know how much the Northmen love their young wolf.

“Once he is King in the North, Robb would lose his claim for the iron throne. As his next eldest child, I would be my father's heir.”

Petyr shook his head. “My sweet, you still forget Bran and Rickon. Male heirs come before female heirs, regardless of their age.”

Sansa smiled. “Not by Dornish law.”

“Dorne is a questionable ally at best,” warned Petyr. “You could never hope to rest you claim on—“

“I'm not _resting_ my claim on anything,” interrupted Sansa. “Let my father retire and go back to the North. He would thank you. Bran can be his heir. Until he comes of age, I could rule the realm as queen regent. With you as my hand. Bran belongs in the North, just as the rest of my family. By the time he is old enough to rule himself, the smallfolk will love me. Then Bran can change the law and grant the heirship to a man's eldest child, be it boy _or_ girl. Nobody would object. I would be queen.”

Petyr sighed. “If I had known I was putting ideas in your head, I never would have agreed to tutor you. Where is the girl who came to me every night and talked about the day at court, asked questions about politics, and then left again, without talk of treason? I miss her.”

Sansa's heart beat faster. She straightened up. “The girl is a woman now.”

“I had feared as much,” replied Petyr with a smile. “Your father warned me to not be a bad influence on you when he agreed to let me be your tutor." He raised his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind Sansa's ear. "I am afraid I have utterly disappointed him.”


End file.
